


Groundhog Day

by rowanrt7



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, I dont know I feel like Bellamy would be a really annoying patient, Injured!Bellamy, Modern AU, Short term memory loss, Tumblr Prompt, doctor!clarke, hospital au, the hospital au you didn't know you needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4665594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowanrt7/pseuds/rowanrt7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Bellamy's in the hospital after a surgery and has short-term memory loss and Clarke's getting fed up with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Groundhog Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic ever so we'll see how this goes...I got the prompt off tumblr and the idea of Bellamy with short-term memory loss is just hilarious to me, so I thought I'd share.

Hospitals are thought to be calming places, places to heal, and to die. The emergency corridor in DC General, even the recovery wing, was far from it. Bored children skated past on exam room stools. They were racing, knees tucked up, as their accomplices chased them. A couple stood at the entrance to surgery, shouting at each other. Doctors and nurses parted around them like rivers around rocks. In the midst of it all, stood the girl at the nurses station, playing with a bit of blonde hair as she filled out forms.

Directly across from her, in a room with the door propped open, a boy fell out of bed. "Excuse me, excuse me--hey!" The boy tripped as he stood, disappearing almost immediately as he toppled sideways. He was wiry, falling out of the papery gown he wore, with a sheaf of dark hair that flopped sideways as he lost his balance. He fell to the ground with one hand outstretched, the lower half of his body still trapped in the bed by tight-bound sheets.

The shouting couple, the skittering wheels, the constant voices over the speaker didn't pull her out of her concentration. She started however, at the sound of her patient falling out of bed. She dropped her clipboard with a clatter and darted to the door. The boy, not noticing her, inspected his hand, its blue veins against the pale linoleum. His fingers seemed odd, stubbier than usual. He flexed his hand and then flexed again, completely oblivious to the doctor in the doorway.

"You can't do that!" Clarke said, her pen loose in her hand. The boy looked up at her, his head turning slowly, as if he were underwater. Clarke recognized the look; it was someone who had just woken up from surgery. The medication was still tickling the corners of his consciousness. Tucking the ballpoint behind one ear, she went to him.

"Can't do what? Hey!," he exclaimed as Clarke clamped down on his arm. She dragged him forcibly back into the bed, one hand planted on his back to maneuver him without opening his sutures, and tucked the sheets around his torso.

"My name's Clarke Griffin, Mr. Blake. You need to stay in bed." She tugged at the edges of the sheets so they were taut across his body.

"You gonna stay with me?" he tried to smirk, but only half the muscles in his face responded and the skin around his eyes crinkled, making him look like a baby monkey.

Clarke coughed over her laugh. "I think you should rest Mr. Blake."

Bellamy Blake nodded slowly, "I could you show you a good time" he squinted at her "...what's your name?"

"Doctor Griffin. Almost doctor. We met just before your surgery."  
Clarke moved to his feet, tucking the linens tight, so that he was trapped by the thin blankets. As long as she kept her hands moving, she was in control of herself. When she looked up again, Bellamy's eyebrows were drawn. He sat as far up as he could, holding himself up with his elbow.

"What are you doing here? I don't know you." 

"That's okay," she said, with the soothing voice reserved for skittish animals and small children. Clarke stepped forward, laying her hand on his shoulder, her skin between the cool paper of the hospital gown and the pre-feverish heat of his skin. "That's fine. Do you know why you're here?"

"No." Bellamy looked down. "My chest hurts."

Clarke made a humming noise, an affirmation. "That's because you were shot." Bellamy's eyes widened, and his hand rummaged at the paper dress. Clarke flipped through the chart, chewing her lower lip. 

"I was shot?" Bellamy exclaimed. 

Clarke ignored him. "Okay, so," she said, "a little short term memory loss is sometimes a reaction to anesthesia. I'll get your doctor." She turned to go, hanging the clipboard at the foot of his bed with a practiced click. 

At the door, she heard his voice, demanding, but with an edge of anxiety, like a child who's lost their mother. "Who are you?"

She started speaking before she even turned around, the words practiced. "My name's Clarke Griffin, I'm a medical intern. Is there anyone I can call for you? Parent, sibling, spouse?" She scratched the inside of her eye, blinking back the last thirty-eight hours. Clarke had caught power-naps in the on-call room, but nothing longer than forty minutes. She backed against the door-frame to support herself. "I can call someone for you," she said again, without inflection. 

"You're not my doctor?" Bellamy's hands clutched the side-rails of his bed. He didn't seem to hear her exhaustion, probably because he was having trouble stringing the minutes, and his words, together. 

Clarke ruffled her hair, and spoke with her eyes closed. "Um...sort of. I'm an intern. I help the nursing staff right now. I fill out paperwork. Let me call someone for you."

Bellamy looked at the webbing between his thumb and finger. He touched the paper gown delicately with two fingers. "This is not my bed."

Clarke squared her shoulders, and opened her eyes. Six more hours in her shift. She could do this. Help the patient, Griffin. "You're in the hospital Mr. Blake. You're having a reaction to medication. You had surgery, but you're going to be fine."

Bellamy scratched his ear."And you're the doctor."

Clarke nodded. "Yes. Almost."

Bellamy tilted his head to one side. "I know you."

Clarke smiled, a smile that pushed the boundaries of her face, a smile that was pure in its exhaustion. "Yes, good. We met before your surgery. I helped prep you. I wouldn't think you'd remember. You were in shock...the driveby had a lot of victims. I'm sure someone will tell you about it..."

"No..no I know you. We went out once, didn't we? You're Clarke, the uptight girl." Bellamy laughed. "The princess!" Clarke winced. She'd figured, between the ambulance, and the gunshot, and the emergency surgery, this wouldn't come up. It was true; Clarke had gone out with Bellamy on a blind date, under advisement from her roommate Raven. Raven had slept with him once, and said he was a good time. Clarke had never found out.

"I am your almost doctor, Mr. Blake." Clarke said shortly. "Can I call someone for you?" She stalked back to the clipboard and picked it up, if just for something to do.

"Why would I want you to call someone?" he cocked his head to one side. The words were coming easier now, the edges of them cleaner.

Clarke rubbed her eye with the palm of her hand. She looked quite young, with her hair falling out of its bun, and her shoulders slumped. "You had a surgery, you're in recovery." 

"Who are you?" Bellamy squinched his nose, as if he were holding back a sneeze

"Clarke Griffin." She shook herself straight, as if the reminder of her name, her purpose, energized her.

"Yeah, we went out once didn't we?" Bellamy's eyes were wide, innocent. His mouth was pressed firmly together, as if he were most definitely not smiling.

Clarke's knuckles whitened on the clipboard. This was going to get annoying. She kept her voice steady. "It's good that you have your long term memory. That means this should just be temporary." Briefly, she was distracted, as the hooligans on exam chairs skated by outside the door. The senior nurse stuck out her foot, stopping them in their tracks, and the boys vaulted over her and scampered away. 

"What should just be temporary?" Bellamy asked. Clarke jerked her head back around. 

"Uh...you had a surgery, Bellamy. You're in recovery. You have short term memory loss."

"How do you know my name?"

Clarke gave up. She retrieved the rolling stool from the hallway, and sat down, her knees propped against his bed. "We went out once."

"It didn't go well?"

"No Bellamy, it went great. We're married now, you just forgot."

"We're married?!" Bellamy sat straight upright, like Frankenstein re-mechanized. 

"Oh my god." Clarke buried her head in her hands. She pushed the pain button on the bed. Morphine dripped into the IV, invisible drugs into the clear sugar water. 

"Bellamy!" The voice was high-pitched. Clarke swung her head around. A girl stood in the doorway, holding her coat closed with one hand. Her hair was loose and wavy, and clung to her face in sweaty tendrils. "What happened to you?" she asked Bellamy. 

"Octavia," he smiled. "How're you?" he slurred. 

"What happened?" Octavia demanded again, this time of Clarke. 

Clarke stood to address her, her hand resting lightly on Bellamy's. "He had a surgery, and he's experiencing some short term memory loss."

Bellamy twisted his hand under his Clarke's, flexing his fingers so his fingerpads touched hers. Fingertip to fingertip; to him the space between their hands looked nebulous and silvery. "This's my wife, O."

Clarke snatched her hand away. "No, no he's confused. We went on one date, almost a year ago, and I think the drugs, and the stress..." Clarke stopped. Octavia raised one eyebrow, but said nothing.

"One date? Why didn't we have more?" Bellamy asked from the bed. His hand reached out for hers again, but he got his hospital bracelet tangled in the IV line. He shook his hand, and the plastic saline bag rattled against the metal hooks. 

"Um..." Clarke looked between Octavia and Bellamy, scratching her neck. The bag rattled in the background, and Clarke put her hand down on top of his again just to stop him. 

"Oh just tell him," Octavia said. "He'll only keep asking."

Clarke looked at the linoleum as she answered."You didn't kiss me good night. And you should've." She looked at him, anxious for his response. 

Bellamy watched her, his eyes darting between her face and their clasped hands, his eyes wide. "Who are you?"

She was totally right. Memory loss--incredibly annoying. "Okay, I'm just going to get your release paperwork, and your sister can sign you out." Clarke spun so fast her heel squeaked on the floor. Her face burned red as she shuffled through manila files, looking for fresh release forms. When she found them, she returned to find Octavia sliding Bellamy into a hoodie, zipping it over his bare chest. The sutures were covered by a white gauze patch. Clarke hovered in the doorway, unsettled now.

Octavia supported Bellamy under one shoulder. She looked expectantly at Clarke. Clarke, despite herself, had to step over the invisible dividing line between Bellamy's room and Clarke's hospital. She extended the papers to Octavia, keeping as much space as possible between her and them. "Um just sign these, and then you're free to go."

Octavia dropped Bellamy back onto the bed, a little roughly Clarke thought, considering his recent incident. She took the papers from Clarke, and slapped them against the wall to sign. 

Bellamy clicked his heels together. He still wore socks, but no one had put his shoes back on. 

"Okay, we can go now right?" Octavia asked. Clarke nodded, and drew herself against the wall for them to pass. Bellamy wrapped his arm around his sister's shoulder, then paused.

"Let's get coffee O. I'll catch up." 

Octavia scoffed. "Yeah, okay." She slid out from under Bellamy's arm and disappeared around the corner. Not completely though, because Clarke could still see the puffy sleeves of her jacket poking out from behind the wall.

Bellamy and Clarke were alone. People passed outside the door without glancing in. Doors opened and closed, letting in bursts of sound. The best places to be alone are always full of people.

Clarke tucked a curl behind her ear and addressed Bellamy's injury. "Try not to get water in the stitches for the first couple of days, and um..." Bellamy stepped toward her, leaning heavily on the wall with one arm. Clarke found herself trapped between the wall and his body. "Can you stand Bellamy? Need to sit down?" She touched his arm gingerly, intending to lead him to a chair, but the muscles in his arm were slack. He wasn't using the wall for support at all.

"I'm just fine princess," Bellamy said. He slid his hand around her neck, his fingers splayed through her hair. The ballpoint dislodged from behind her ear and fell with a plinking sound onto the linoleum. 

"Just fine," he repeated, his face hovering close to hers. Clarke's mind went blank as Bellamy pressed his mouth against hers, like a question, waiting for her response. She stood there, blinking his face in and out, seeing his freckles and then darkness, his eyelashes flush against his cheekbones, and darkness. 

After several shocked seconds, Clarke leaned into the kiss. He smelled like the hospital, industrial cleaner, and overly scented flowers, but he also smelled like something she couldn't quite place, smokey and strong. She cupped his jaw with one hand. Bellamy pulled away, a smile splitting his face. 

"Good night, princess," he said. "I'll call you about that second date." He stepped back, leaving Clarke pressed against the wall. She let it support her a few seconds longer.

His meaning clicked in her mind. "Second date? You were screwing with me? The whole time?" She looked past him, to where Octavia had reappeared in the doorway, smirking.

"Not the whole time. Just at the end there. Married, that's a good one."

Bellamy grinned over his shoulder as he and Octavia disappeared down the hall.

"I'll call you!"


End file.
